by Kris Calvert
“He was whistling Dixie?” I asked, my heart now beginning to pound out of my chest with adrenaline.
She nodded. “It’s him. I know it’s him.”
I swallowed hard. Holy shit. Was Boone Henry coordinating the sale of information to enemies? It would explain a lot—including the hit on me. I needed to find Samantha. Now.
“Elias? Was Boone on your hacked list of inquiries for sex?”
Elias shook his head no. “I’ve never heard of the guy until this moment.”
“Get her back to the table. Stick with Fuller. All of you stick with Fuller, understand?” I said, nearly shouting at Elias.
“I understand,” he said with a gravity I hadn’t expected.
I checked the gun at my side and started to walk away when he grabbed me by the coat tails.
Facing him, I shouted. “What?”
Calmly, Elias handed me his phone. “Keep this. It’s going to vibrate when the chip is twenty yards or less from you. But Mac, an alarm will sound with three chimes when the chip is ten feet or less. Do you understand? This phone might be the best weapon you have tonight.”
I slipped it in my front pants’ pocket. “Don’t act alarmed. Don’t cause a scene. Update Fuller and stick together.”
I walked away taking long, deliberate strides. I needed to find Samantha. I needed to find Jackman. The President of the United States was walking into a shit storm.
I hurried back into the tent. The majority of people were at their assigned tables, save for the few who were still talking with friends in the aisles.
“If I could ask you to please take your seats.”
I turned to the main stage. Boone Henry was standing at the podium. Samantha stood stage right, her hands clasped in front of her. I watched her shoulders rise and fall as she took a deep breath. I could see it on her face. Something was wrong. Something was terribly wrong. Calmly, I did my best to make my way to her side.
“Ladies and Gentlemen,” Boone began. “On behalf of North Star, I want to thank you all for being here tonight. As you are about to see, volunteers will be walking around the tables over the course of the next few moments while we await the arrival of our esteemed president. Before that happens, I’d like for you all to join me in thanking our hosts this evening here in Alabama on this beautiful evening. They so graciously opened their home to us this past week after a water main break in the Atlanta hotel almost ruined our wonderful gala. Ladies and gentlemen, please join me in thanking Samantha Callahan,” he said, gesturing to Sam on the edge of the stage. “And her husband, Mac.”
Applause erupted throughout the tent and I smiled proudly as I stopped in my tracks and clapped as well, blowing her a kiss. In return, she touched her chest with an open hand, but shook her head no. Samantha was doing her best to put on a good front, but I could see it in her eyes. She was afraid.
“The young men and women you see milling about are here for your pledge cards. You’ll find them on your tables. We’ve already placed your name on a card for you.”
A murmur broke out among the crowd as they all reached for the pledge cards next to their wine glasses.
“Please consider making a donation tonight to help stop the inhumane practice of human trafficking.”
Boone paused to look behind him for a flash and I took the moment to hurry to Samantha’s side.
“Now without further ado, please join me in welcoming the executive director of North Star, Dr. Jeffrey Ward.”
Another round of applause erupted in the crowd and I watched as people wrote on their cards, depositing them into the open baskets being carried around between the tables. For everything that was about to go down, I prayed the evening was worth it.
Finally reaching Samantha, I whispered in her ear as Boone walked toward us and I stared him down. “It’s Boone.”
“What?” she asked, pulling back to look at me. Samantha was pale, the brightness of her rosy cheeks gone as she stared into my face. Our eyes met and she knew I was telling her the truth.
“Mac,” she whispered, barely moving her lips. “It’s Jackman.”
I gave her a puzzled look, then startled by a bright spotlight on Samantha and me, I flinched.
“Thank you, Senator Boone for that warm welcome and again, our thanks to the Callahans—yes, yes, there’s the spotlight for them. Thank you, Samantha and Mac Callahan for allowing us to invade your private paradise, Lone Oak, for this evening’s occasion,” Dr. Ward began.
Met with another round of applause, I squeezed Sam’s hand and we both waved to acknowledge the crowd. I could feel her shaking in my grip and I kissed her hand, silently letting her know I wouldn’t let anything happen to her.
“Ladies and gentlemen, I want to take this moment to explain why we are all here tonight. Human trafficking is a multi-billion-dollar criminal industry that denies freedom to over twenty million people worldwide. No matter where you live, chances are it’s happening nearby. There are young girls forced into prostitution and workers stripped of their passports and held against their will. Last year alone, an estimated one out of five endangered runaways reported to the National Center for Missing and Exploited Children were likely child sex trafficking victims. Of those, three fourths were in the care of social services or foster care when they ran away. Globally, it is estimated that over half of the victims are in forced labor, while the other half are women, girls and boys forced into prostitution. Shockingly, a quarter of the victims are children.”
Dr. Ward continued with his speech as I scanned the room for Agent Jackman.
Several of the Secret Service exited behind the stage. I could only assume in preparation for the president’s arrival. But as soon as they left, something happened.
At the far corner of the tent, I watched a stake lift from the ground and a small section of the tent side became loose. Dropping Samantha’s hand, I walked calmly toward the location, only to see Brady Kurtz stand up and brush the grass from his gray t-shirt and jeans.
“Brady.” I hissed his name, doing my best to get his attention as he climbed the side stairs to the main stage.
Gasps erupted from the audience and two Secret Service men jumped into action to stop him.
Immediately, I walked to the podium to assure Dr. Ward he was in no danger and I asked the Secret Service not to hurt him.
“Hold Sandstorm, I repeat, hold Sandstorm,” the Secret Serviceman said into his mouthpiece.
I knew they were holding the president before allowing him to come to the party. I didn’t know if he’d landed on the property yet, what I did know was if Brady wanted to say something, I was giving him the opportunity.
“Ladies and gentlemen, please stay calm.” Turning to the Secret Service, I held my hands in the air. “Let him go. He’s with me.”
Taking Brady by the arm, I led him closer to the podium.
“Brady?”
“I got somethin’ I wanna say.”
I wrapped my arms around his frail shoulders and looked out into the faces of the mortified audience. “I guess you better say it then.”
Brady stepped to the podium and stared into the shocked crowd dressed to the nines. Then with a look of defeat, gazed down at his own appearance before looking back to me. Apprehension clouded his features as the room fell silent. I gave him a single reassuring nod and said, “Go ahead.”
He touched the microphone with his open hand to know it was on and slid a single sheet of paper from his back pocket, unfolding it on the podium. “Hello. My name is Brady Kurtz. Until about three months ago, I was a victim of human trafficking—for three years. I’ve been hiding out—fearful for my life. Some of you know me as the blue-eyed boy. Honestly, I was supposed to be a guest tonight—dressed up like all of you,” he began. “Mac and Samantha asked me to come. But I ran away—afraid of who I might see here tonight.”
I continued to scan the crowd, my hand on my side, ready to reach for my gun. Finding Win, Ginny and Jackman in the audience, I gave them all a nod
as they spread out around the stage inconspicuously, ready to take action.
“My mentor, Chops,” Brady said, pausing to find him in the audience. “Chops once told me that we were all put on Earth to be free and the one thing that would always set me free was the truth. So here I am tonight ready to tell you the truth—because I know you’ve paid a bunch of money to be here—to fight trafficking slavery—well, I’m here to tell you, you can fight it from the inside. You might wonder what that means. Well, it means rich people like you can stop using services to find young women and boys to sexually service you.”
A collective gasp arose from the audience and Dr. Ward stepped forward. “I think I’ve heard about enough of this. I’m sorry ladies and gentlemen.”
A voice came from the back of the stage. “Let him speak.”
Behind us stood Secretary Molloy, surrounded by a cavalcade of Secret Service agents. Stepping to the podium, she continued. “I don’t know about you folks, but as not only the Director of Homeland Security, but the mother of five children—three of whom were once foster kids—I’d like to hear what this young man has to say.”
Many cheered in the audience, a few stood to leave.
“Don’t go, Congressman Roddey,” Brady said pointing to the couple exiting the tent. “Congressman Roddey and I go way back. And Senator Hill? Are you here tonight?”
We all watched as a group turned to face a man sitting at a table filled with people sipping champagne, staring at the accused. Slamming his fist on the table, the china and crystal clanked as he stood.
“This is preposterous. I won’t sit by and have my name dragged through the mud. You’ll hear from my lawyer,” he said, pointing his finger at the stage.
“See?” Brady said. “Here’s the problem. A kid from the streets like me has no chance against powerful people like you. But like Chops told me, there’s power in the truth. If you want to fight injustice, if you want to fight back against oppression and human slavery, then I challenge you to take a good look at yourselves. Because like me, there are millions of us who don’t feel we have a voice in the world.”
The room was dead silent except for the few cameras we’d allowed into the tent to document the evening. I scanned the room watching carefully. The twenty or so reporters invited to the party were frantically holding their phones up as cameras and recording, the others present could only watch in awe.
“But we do have a voice,” Brady continued. “Because as long as the truth is out there, there will be good people who seek to find it.”
He took a quick breath, folding his speech back into its original square and slipped it into his pocket. “That’s all I wanted to say, except if you haven’t written a check to North Star or pledged your money, or whatever you all came here tonight to do—I’m begging you—give from the bottom of your heart. If another person like me can come out of this alive, then it’s all worth it. Thank you.”
The room stayed silent for a long and painful three or four seconds before Secretary Molloy started clapping painfully slow and loud. At the front table, two powerful CEO’s I recognized got to their feet to join her. Soon the entire group was on their feet, cheering for the lost boy, who’d had the courage and conviction to tell the truth.
Sam rushed to Brady’s side to give him a hug and the young man broke down in tears in her embrace.
“C’mon,” I said, giving a nod and an open hand motion for Win and Ginny to stay in the room. I scanned the area, but Jackman was nowhere to be seen.
Dr. Ward took to the podium again as Samantha and I whisked Brady off the stage and out the back service entrance to the tent where the catering staff was bustling in and out preparing to serve the first course.
“I’m sorry,” he said choking back tears. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?” I asked. “For telling the truth? Brady, if anything, you should be extremely proud of yourself.”
“You poor thing.” Samantha cradled his face in her hands, kissing him on the forehead. “Are you okay?”
He nodded. “I just thought if they were going to kill me, I’d show my face and confront them first. I mean, maybe now someone will listen to what I have to say. And they know my face. Now, everyone knows my face.”
“You did good, kid. You did good. But we need to get you out of here.”
“Well, well, well, Callahan,” Secretary Molloy said, walking up to meet us in the grass behind the tent. “That was quite a show. The president has bugged out. Brady was a security breach and protocol mandates that he evacuate.”
Stricken, Brady looked to Samantha, “I’m sorry, Mrs. Callahan. I didn’t mean to ruin your party.”
She rubbed his back, and the sparkle in her eyes let me know she was holding her own tears at bay. “You didn’t ruin the party, Brady. You did the most important and bravest thing anyone at this party could do. You showed everyone what we’re fighting against.”
“Yeah,” Molly said. “And in the process you called out two longtime men of Washington. Son, do you have anything to back up the claims you made tonight? Have you truly and honestly been forced to have sexual relations with those two men?”
“I don’t…I mean—I can tell you things about them that only someone who’s seen them naked could tell you. I don’t have pictures or anything. Or…seventy-four A, dash Four uppercase M, lower case p, dash capital V, seventy-four dash Y, lower case T, upper case G.”
“What’s that?” she asked.
“The password to Roddey’s email account.”
I cocked my head and stared into Molly’s eyes. “We’ve discussed this, Molly.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. This isn’t going to be easy, Mac. You’re opening Pandora’s Box here. You know your life is going to be threatened over this. Hell, my life is probably going to be threatened. I’m calling in someone to protect you, son. Just until we can depose you and get you somewhere safe.”
“He can stay with us, Molly. I’ll keep him safe,” I said.
Molly left and the Secret Service was on us like white on rice. I backed them all off, explaining Brady was in my custody for the time being. With the president’s speech now cancelled, the majority of the group packed up and left. If there was no one to protect, there was no reason to be here.
I watched the droves of servers taking in the first course of the meal as Win and Ginny passed the trays going into the tent on their out way to me.
“Roddey and Hill tore outta here like they were on fire,” Win said.
I nodded. “I’m not surprised.”
Harlan Jackman appeared out of the blue, storming into the group. “What the fuck was that?” he yelled. “Mac.” He pointed in my face and proceeded to take Brady by the arm. “I need to speak with you both. Now.”
“Stand the fuck down, Harlan,” I said.
“I’m sorry,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck and pacing frantically. “I’m sorry. I need to speak with Brady.”
“Brady doesn’t go anywhere without me. Win, Ginny? Please take Brady into the house. He probably needs a shower and something to eat.”
The phone in my front pocket began to vibrate and I pulled it out to see a red dot flashing in frantic succession, just in time to hear three chimes ring out.
I stared at the phone in disbelief and then into Harlan Jackman’s eyes. “You’ve gotta be kidding me,” I said, dropping the phone to my side.
“Mac,” he began. “I need that kid. They’re going to be all over him. Let me put him in protective custody so—”
“So what?” I said, advancing into Jackman’s personal space. “I’ve got you, Harlan.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Mac, just step away from the tent so we can talk. Let’s go to the horse barn. It’s quiet there.”
“How do you know it’s quiet there?” Samantha asked.
“Sam,” I said, now realizing she was still with me. “Go back inside and make sure everything is okay.”
Sam backed up and blew a kiss to me. I d
idn’t reciprocate and the look on her face told me she understood.
“I’m on to you Harlan. I know. I know everything. You’re balls deep into this—you and your pretty boy, Boone Henry. I’ve got evidence.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Mac. I think maybe the pressure of the evening, or perhaps your job is getting to you. I’m sure you don’t have evidence of anything.”
“I shook my head. “You’re going down, Harlan.”
“Mac, calm down. No one is going down for anything,” he said, holding his hands up as if he were innocent.
I looked to Elias’s screen again. With each step I took toward Harlan, the stronger the red light pulsed. “Did you really think you could kill me, Harlan? Or did you chicken out and that’s why you couldn’t finish the job?”
“Mac, you’re talking like a crazy man.”
“Am I? See these marks?” Pulling the edge of my collar away I showed him the ligature marks on my neck. “You left these on me.”
“Hoss, I think we need to get you some psychiatric help.”
“But I left something on your neck too, Hoss,” I said with grin. “A tracking device—compliments of my hacktavist friends—friends who’ve traced emails for sex slaves all the way back to the man who’s selling secrets—the man who speaks both Farsi and Arabic—the man who killed Senator Storm—the man who’s about to retire and join his partner in crime. Senator. Boone. Henry.”
I pulled my gun and Harlan mirrored me, gripping his Glock in his hand. We walked away from the party nearly step for step, never taking an eye off the other. “How long did you really think you could get away with this?” I asked. “Were you the one who killed Storm?”
“Fuck you, Callahan. You were never a real agent. Real agents work because they have to, not just to get their rich-kid rocks off trying to prove to everyone they’re something other than just a snot nosed silver spoon. I watched men die in my arms protecting this nation and for what?”